


A Night at the Palace

by bedlamsbard



Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-20
Updated: 2012-01-20
Packaged: 2017-10-29 20:44:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/323999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bedlamsbard/pseuds/bedlamsbard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even on Naboo, Anakin and Padme have no luck at all when it comes to assassins.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Night at the Palace

“My, Padmé, _what_ a catch,” Risé Ashikira said, gently fluttering fan giving them a little privacy. The words were followed up by a sly smile that took in the absurdity of the statement; Risé had been the under-senator for Naboo before she’d stepped down to get married and understood the Jedi Order as well as any civilian could.

Padmé smiled to herself. Anakin was listening to the governor of Naboo with an expression of great interest on his face; Padmé knew him well enough to know that he was only pretending. She’d seen the same expression on Obi-Wan’s face whenever he sat in on Senate meetings, much to his general protest, or so he’d told her once.

“Why is he really here?” Risé went on. She fluttered her fan harder to warn off an approaching young politician; he got the message – entire conversations could be carried out courtesy of a fan, which only married women of a certain rank carried – and veered away.

“Maybe he is just my escort,” Padmé demurred. It wasn’t unheard of, after all, though rare; Anakin was one of the few off-worlders at Jamillia’s winter gala, but he wasn’t the only one.

“There’s been another assassination attempt, hasn’t there?” Risé pressed on forcefully. She flicked her fan.

“No,” Padmé allowed. She raised her chin slightly to gesture a server over; he came, bowed his head the proper degree for a senator – slightly more of an angle than it would have been for Risé alone, but when faced with several politicians of differing rank, the highest rank was always the one acknowledged – and took her empty glass of liqueur, replacing it with a smaller glass of green Securi brandy.

“Padmé, one does not simply decide to take a Jedi Knight back home on a whim, not in the middle of a war,” Risé continued once the server had gone.

“He’s not a Knight,” Padmé said, although she knew Risé understood perfectly well what Anakin’s Padawan braid meant; she was simply trying to make a point. “And Anakin Skywalker is a friend; you might remember him from the Invasion.”

“The little boy who blew up the Trade Federation control ship?” Risé said. She gave Anakin another, more appreciative look. “Well, I suppose he has grown a bit. Still, Padmé. You may be able to fool the Queen, but you cannot fool me. I taught you everything you know.”

“Not _everything_ ,” Padmé reminded her, and Risé waved that off with another flick of her fan.

“How _is_ the war going?” she asked instead in a much lower voice. “Considering that you were able to take a Jedi out of it – Padawan or not, Padmé, I know how dangerous even a Jedi child is – for a few days to come home for a party.”

“I’d rather not talk about the war,” Padmé said – which was, of course, information enough.

Risé looked grim. Padmé knew her words were news enough; even this early in the war the Senate and the Chancellor were keeping more under wraps than what she’d read had occurred in earlier wars. They were keeping secrets from the citizens of the Republic, even the governing bodies of the member planets. Ill enough news for any government.

To keep from saying anything else, Padmé looked over Risé’s shoulder at the brightly colored assortment of Naboo’s finest. The Queen herself was here, seated on a pedestal away from the crowd, which included a few lucky common citizens as well – mostly schoolchildren hoping to make their mark on the planet. Padmé disapproved, although she’d never say so to Jamillia’s face. The Queen should be among her people, mingling and learning their likes and dislikes, their prides and their grievances. When she’d been Queen, she’d opened the palace at Theed to the citizenry for the royal holiday galas and moved among them, asking questions and answering grievances, kissing babies and wishing young couples luck. The young Princess of Theed, Apailana, was doing just that among Naboo’s politicians and Upper Society members.

Anakin saw her looking, made what was hopefully a gracious excuse to Sio Bibble – he’d been trained by Obi-Wan Kenobi, who could obfuscate with the best of the Senate’s politicians when he wanted to (which, Padmé knew, wasn’t particularly often) – and started threading his way towards them.

“You might like Anakin,” Padmé said to Risé.

She flicked her fan – all in the wrist, this time, which was a dismissive motion for conversation, not action – and said, “I rather liked Master Kenobi, although I only met him the once. Is your Anakin anything like him?”

“He’s not _my_ Anakin,” Padmé started to say, but she only managed to get the first two syllables out before Anakin grabbed her shoulder and shoved her to the ground, a bare heartbeat before glass shattered all around the reception hall.

“Stay _down_!” he hissed in her ear, unlit lightsaber already in his free hand.

“Don’t be _ridiculous_ ,” Padmé hissed back, pushing up her skirt so she could get at the blasters strapped to her legs.

Anakin glanced down, briefly wide-eyed, and then blinked hard. She could practically _see_ his Jedi training asserting itself.

“I supposed that’s a yes on the assassination attempt,” Risé murmured from the floor besides Padmé. She held out a hand for one of the blasters; Padmé gave it to her.

“It wasn’t an _attempt_ ,” Padmé whispered. “Just…a _threat_.”

“Oh, well, in that case.”

“If you don’t _mind_ ,” Anakin hissed at them. He straightened slowly – most of the politicians and Society had gone to the floor; the Palace Guard and the Royal Guard hidden among the waitstaff were still standing, disguises thrown aside and blasters in their hands – and lit up his lightsaber, throwing blue light in strange shadows against the walls. “Is anyone hurt?” he asked. He had that peculiar trick of throwing his voice, the same one that generals and good public speakers had, and the words echoed around the hall longer than they should have.

“Just broken glass, Master Skywalker,” one of the Guard said.

Padmé saw Anakin’s shoulders twitch slightly at the honorific, but he nodded and moved towards the nearest window, stepping over people as if they were nothing more than obstacles in his way, not living beings. Padmé pushed herself up to follow him, lifting her skirts in her free hand.

“Senator Amidala, I really don’t think –” the Captain of the Palace Guard said, sounding frustrated, but the rest of his words were cut off in a gargle of blood.

Anakin whirled, lightsaber flashing up in front of his face. “Everyone down!” he shouted. His eyes were already slanting downwards; Padmé stared at him, wondering what he could possibly be doing with his eyes closed, and then she felt – something.

A throwing star the size of her hand embedded itself in the wall behind her. Padmé stopped breathing, blaster jerking up instinctively, but all she saw was Anakin with his free hand extended towards her, his eyes wide and terrified.

There was a trickle of blood running down her cheek; the throwing star had just barely missed her.

Anakin didn’t say anything, just broke into a dead run towards the nearest window and dove out of it, arms extended over his head like one of the divers from the Cliffs of Senparro, lightsaber flashing out of existence as quickly as it had ignited.

“Anakin!” Padmé screamed, but didn’t rush to the window the way she wanted to. Instead she turned back to the hall. “We need to get the Queen out,” she announced. “Captain Drevish –”

The Captain of the Royal Guard, who’d somehow made his way over to the podium when the last place Padmé had seen him had been on the other side of the hall, just smiled. “Out, Senator?” he said, and grinned wider, teeth white in his dark face. “Why, she’s not here at all.”

Of course. There was a trapdoor beneath the throne; Padmé had never had to use it except in drills, but Drevish must have gotten Jamillia out through it when she’d been occupied with Anakin. There were half a dozen fewer Royal Guards in the hall as well. Naboo Guards were nearly as good as Jedi.

“Risé,” Padmé began, and the other woman nodded, getting to her feet. There had been no other throwing stars since Anakin had dived out of the window; it seemed likely he’d chased the assassin away and would soon be returning with his head, or some other sign of her death or capture.

“Everyone stay down,” Risé said calmly. “Stay below the windows. We’re going to go to the Old Hall.”

Which had windows, but not nearly as many as the Grand Hall. Padmé nodded her approval, motioning Drevish over to her. He came immediately, moving fluidly through bunches of hunched over politicians and Upper Society.

“There’s already a squad on the street,” he said, forestalling anything she was about to say. “Lieutenant Marilie,” the Palace Guard’s Second, of course, “sent them out as soon as the windows broke.”

“Very efficient,” Padmé said. “These people are going to be scared, Captain –”

“Going to be?”

“Are scared, then. I’m aware that the best protection available is already here, but make sure they’re aware of that, won’t you? It will calm them. Scared people do stupid things.”

“Of course, Senator,” Drevish said, inclining his head to the side slightly, as was proper for a military leader.

She smiled. “I don’t think there’s anything else we can do except wait.”

“There’s always something,” he told her impatiently. “I’ll put the City Guard on alert, for example.”

“Very good,” Padmé told him, moving to follow Risé and the rest of the guests.

She’d expected the party to dissipate; Naboo Society was never much for excess stress if they could avoid it. Maybe she’d just spent too much time on Coruscant, where assassination attempts were – the war aside – fairly commonplace, at least in certain sectors, and were generally used for more publicity so long as no one died, but Padmé really had expected more panic than there actually was. There was a fair amount, of course, but after an hour or so had passed and nothing else happened, the waitstaff brought the food and drinks back and the band began playing again.

But Anakin didn’t return.

Padmé took a glass of Securi brandy – the same kind she’d dropped in the Grand Hall earlier – from a passing waiter and stood sipping it, trying to conceal how nervous she was.

“He’s a Jedi,” Risé told her, completely unfazed. “He’ll be all right. They always are.”

“Not always,” Padmé said, remembering Qui-Gon Jinn’s body burning and Obi-Wan’s shadowed face. She took another sip of the brandy to hide her shaking hands.

Risé, frowning, saw the motion and stepped in towards her, catching her wrists in her hands. “Padmé,” she said, very sternly, “what have you gotten yourself into?”

“Anakin’s just a friend,” Padmé said, and knew she’d gone too far already when Risé’s eyes got huge.

“Oh, _Padmé_ ,” she said. “The _Jedi_ –”

Whatever she had been about to say was lost as Anakin appeared in the door behind her. Padmé thrust her glass into Risé’s hand, ignoring the cardinal sin of etiquette and making Risé drop her fan to avoid dropping the glass, and moved across the floor as quickly as she could without all-out running.

“Ani, are you all right?” she demanded, clutching his arms. She couldn’t hug him – not here in public, not with so many eyes on the both of them, and Anakin looked like he was debating that point.

“I’m fine,” Anakin said. He cupped her face between his palms; Padmé caught his wrists and pushed them down firmly.

“Who was it? Did you catch them?”

“Another bounty hunter,” Anakin said. “Gunray’s getting desperate. Don’t worry, he won’t be bothering anyone again. He was _bad_ at it, too. Are you sure you’re all right?”

“Barely scratched. The Queen wants to talk to you.”

He winced. Padmé poked him in the chest. “You can’t get out of this, you know. You’re the only Jedi on-planet.”

“Yes, of course,” Anakin said, and glanced around, like he was expecting Jamillia to appear out of thin air.

Padmé tucked her hand into his elbow. “I’ll take you to her,” she said, and smiled. “I’ll thank you for saving my life later.”


End file.
